The Story of Sophia Masen
by ThatsMyPenNameDon'tWearItOut
Summary: Edward's old life starts to catch up with his new one. Meet Sophia Masen, vampire, twin of Taylor Masen, and cousin of Edward Cullen. What happens when they meet a hundred years later?
1. Chapter 1

I was surrounded by death. The death of the last chance for happiness, my family's happiness. The death of the hope for the other Influenza patients. The death that was delivered in a way that rendered me numb, leaving my senses cold and unfocused. The death of Edward.

I stood next to my mother and Taylor. Mother sobbed until her sobs seemed like dry gasps for air. Taylor just stared straight ahead, his face devoid of any emotion. A true soldier. There was a lone tear sliding down his cheek, however. I had one arm around my mother, in a fruitless effort to console her. How could I console her when I could not even console myself?

The minister spoke, and I heard the words, but I could not make sense of them. The only thing I saw was the closed coffin. A little voice inside my mind kept screaming at me, "Edward is in there!"

"The casket will not be left open; the Influenza virus may still be on the body. We cannot take the risk," the doctor had said apologetically, but firmly. His name was Colon or Colin, something to that effect. I didn't bother to remember his name, and frankly, I didn't care. I remembered being furious with him, wanting to scream that it didn't matter to me, that I would give my life to see my cousin again. But something had stopped me. There was something in the doctor's impeccable, pale face, full of innocence and concern, that had stopped me from losing my mind right then and there. Instead, I had stalked out of the hospital and to my house, making sure there was no one there, then locking myself in my room and crying my eyes out. I never let anyone see my true self, not since my father died. He had often said to me, " Be strong for your family; they are the only ones you have." He had lived this motto all his life.

Father…Uncle John…Aunt Elizabeth…Edward…they were all gone. I looked at Mother and Taylor with new eyes, horrified. I had just realized that they were the only ones I had left.

This was too much for me.

I ran out of the parlor, out of the house, and down the path. I heard my mother calling out to me, but Taylor must have stopped her, because she broke off mid-word: "Soph-!" I imagined what Taylor must have said to her, probably something like, "She needs some time alone, Mother. Let her be." Taylor always understood me, as I him. We were two peas in a pod, two sides of the same coin. We were twins.

I ran until I could run no further. I almost tripped a few times over my ankle-length mourning dress. I had worn it four times in one year.

Finally, I stopped. I looked around, dazed. I had been so focused on getting as far away as possible from the house that I had no idea where I had ended up. A second look told me that I was in the forest somewhere. This was even worse. The forest had formerly been my refuge, but now it reminded me of happier times. I remember when my brother and I used to go on adventures in the forest…with Edward.

" _Stop!" I shrieked gleefully at Taylor, as he threw pinecones at me. Edward watched from a low branch on a tree, amused at this seven year-old children's play. Being ten, he considered himself much superior, which caused him to leap down from the tree and order us to stop. We stopped and gazed expectantly at him with admiring eyes, a look that could only be given to an older brother. Of course, he was more of a brother to us than a cousin, especially since his mother was sisters with our mother and his father was our father's brother. We were outcasts in the town for that, with most parents telling their children that we were part of a cult. That only made us closer. My mother, however, did not call it a cult; she called it a miracle._

"_Ok, _children_, we are going to play War. I will be the General, and you, Taylor, will be the Sergeant. Sophia, since you are a _girl_, you will be the nurse," Edward instructed us._

"_No! I want to be a soldier! I want to fight!" I protested, then threw such a tantrum that Edward finally gave in._

"_Fine, then, Sophia. You may start out as a Private, and then we'll see if you can work your way up. Now, my army, the enemy are the squirrels that climb up the trees. We will try to take their territory, the trees, away from them, so that we can climb them and build clubhouses in them, and such."_

"_But we already climb them, and build clubhouses in them, Edward," Taylor pointed out. "The squirrels let us."_

"_No, Taylor, we are supposed to have complete ownership of the trees. We should be the ones giving permission to the squirrels, not the other way around. We have to show them who's IN CONTROL!" Edward stomped his foot on the ground. "Now, the most important thing to remember is that no matter what happens, we do not turn our backs on someone who is on our side. For example, if Taylor is about to lay claim on a certain tree, and he sees me struggling, in need of help, knowing that his choice is to either claim the tree and watch me die, or to come back for me, allow the squirrels to re-claim their tree, he should choose the second option. An army is like a family. Repeat: We never turn our backs on family!"_

"_We never turn our backs on family!" Taylor and I echoed, and then giggled._

"_All right, soldiers, I believe you're ready. Let us march into the unknown and claim what is already ours!" He had a determined glint in his eye, as if this was The Revolutionary War. He turned around and marched deeper into the woods, only stopping to check if Taylor and I were behind him, which we always were._

I sighed. Then I got up from under the tree where I had been sitting. My face felt tight from the dried tears. My dress was filthy. I had no idea how long I had been sitting there, but it was almost sunset. I set off for home, hoping that there were no lingering guests from the funeral. As I was walking, I heard a sudden rustle in the trees. I looked up, startled. There was nothing there, save a squirrel. A squirrel. I smiled, momentarily distracted, remembering that day in the forest when we had waged war on the tree-climbing rodents, only to have them flee at our every approach. _"Cowards!"_ Edward had yelled, shaking his fist. But I could have sworn that I had seen a flash of yellow, or gold.

I shrugged, attributing the vision to post-traumatic madness, and continued on my way, on the path I had taken so many times before, with Taylor and Edward.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sophia, wake up." I heard a voice in my ear, but I was occupied with playing cards with Uncle John, Aunt Elizabeth, Father, and Edward. I wasn't actually playing; I was watching them play. As I watched, Edward put down the Ace of Spades, and so did Aunt Elizabeth. After a moment of consideration, Father put down the same card, following Uncle John. Then they all looked at me expectantly. Oh. I had forgotten that I was holding cards, too. I fumbled through them for a second, trying to find the Ace of Spades. I had the feeling that I was supposed to put it down, too. But I didn't have it. I looked at them helplessly. They all stared at me for a moment, and then started shaking their heads at me, one by one. First Uncle John, then Aunt Elizabeth, then Edward, then Father. I found myself inside my house. I looked through the window, and they were playing cards, each seated at a table on the pathway. Without me. I banged on the window and the door, but they were both locked. I saw them looking at me with pity in their eyes. Finally, I noticed that Taylor and Mother were in the house with me. I ran to them and hugged them. Mother's mouth opened, and words came out.

"_Sophia_, _wake up!_" I awoke with a start. I was lying on the couch in the parlor, and Mother was kneeling beside me. Taylor lurked nearby, watching me. My throat hurt. I realized that I had been screaming in my sleep. I was also sweating.

"Sweetheart, are you all right?" Mother hugged me. There was no trace of the broken woman I had seen at the funeral earlier. I stole a glance at the grandfather clock nearby. It was eight o'clock in the morning. Correction. There was no trace of the broken woman I had seen at the funeral _yesterday_. "You came in right after sunset last night," Mother explained, "and you looked terrible. You were muttering something about yellow eyes, and then you collapsed on the sofa and slept till now." I could see the worry in her eyes. She thought I was mad.

I sat up on the sofa. "Forgive me, Mother. I must have been half asleep. After all, it was a long day for me." I saw my mother's anxiety visibly lessen. Looking for an opportunity to leave her presence, for fear that I might break down and sob, I noticed that I was still wearing the dirty dress that I had ventured out into the forest in yesterday. "How thoughtful of you to not change my clothes and let me sleep, Mother. Excuse me; I'm going to go change into something…less dirty." Something with less pain attached to it, I mentally added. I stood up, took a few steps, and then staggered. Taylor caught me before I could fall. His eyes bored into mine as he raised me up. _I know you're hiding something_, they said. I could never hide anything from my twin brother.

I went to my bedroom, more physically stable this time, and changed my clothes. I also took the mourning-dress, secretly went to the back of the house, and threw it in the fire we used for burning waste. I prayed to God that I would not need it ever again. Then I came back inside and found Mother and Taylor speaking quietly together in the kitchen. When they saw me, they stopped abruptly. Mother hesitated, looking at Taylor, and then stepped forward.

"Taylor and I have talked it over,"—Of course. Taylor was the man of the house, now that Edward was gone (Our families had lived together)—"and we think that it would be best for the family if we…if we had a change of scenery…a permanent change of scenery."

"You mean moving, Mother?"

"Yes, moving, dear." She seemed relieved that she would not have to sugarcoat it for me. Taylor jumped in.

"We thought it would be best for you—and us, of course—to adjust to the, er, _change_." I interrupted him.

"You don't have to say it like that, Taylor. I will never be fine with the death of Edward, or his parents, or Father. But that doesn't mean you cannot refer to the situation as it truly is. For Pete's sake, Tay, I am a grown woman, practically!" I grinned at him, trying, with all my might, to hide the pain I really felt. Fortunately, he smiled back, yet reluctantly.

"All right then; we thought it would be best for us to adjust to the _deaths_,"—I winced, and I am almost certain that he noticed but didn't question it for my sake—"by moving away and starting anew. A…fresh start." His smile was sad now. "We could go to Father's old house in Alabama, before he and Uncle John came here. It's still owned by our family, some distant cousins. What do you think, Sophia?" His voice was cautious as he uttered that last sentence.

Move away from home? The place where I was born and raised? Where I shared so many memories with my family? The only part of Father, Edward, Uncle John, and Aunt Elizabeth I had left?

"Yes."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N I didn't put an Author's Note into either of the last chapters, I forgot, I'm sorry! This is my first fanfiction ever. So please don't yell at me if it gets a little inconsistent with the original story I am a rookie, after all. Oh, and I would like to thank QueenRexKenobi124 for reviewing. You're awesome! *thumbs up* :D I never realized how awesome it feels to have someone you don't know positively review your work until it actually happened to me. So, please, REVIEW and make me happy **

_Two years later_

_1921_

I was sixteen now.

Our family had moved to the reportedly rainiest place in the United States, Mobile, Alabama. Sunlight was a rare occurrence here, as rare as the possibility of Edward coming back from the dead. Speaking of which, the weather did nothing to comfort me.

We had located my father's old house upon arriving. He had never gone back to Alabama after he had met my mother through Uncle John. Therefore, we had no idea where it was or what it looked like. We had never even met the current owners, despite their being family. Gregory Windham, Father's second cousin, and his wife, Rebecca. They had two children, boys, who were both younger than Taylor and I. Uncle John and Father had started living with their father's cousin, Gregory's mother, in the very house in which we now lived, and her husband after their father had drowned while fishing in rough waters in the Gulf of Mexico. Their mother and older sister had died from tuberculosis just a couple years before. He had never spoken to Taylor and I about our paternal grandparents and aunt; we'd received all our information about them from Uncle John.

We had taken a train from Chicago to Mobile, walking the rest of the way. This was bearable due to the fact that we had not brought much, wanting to carry as little of the painful past with us. We had found the house by asking locals, many of whom who were familiar with our cousins. Luckily, we had brought umbrellas with us, because it rained the entire time. For me, it symbolized the tears that I wanted to shed. For leaving my home. For leaving Father, my aunt and uncle, and my cousin. But I couldn't. The only reason I had agreed to the move was to forget, to distract myself. For I knew that if I ever dwelled on my losses for too long, I would go into a place where nobody could ever drag me out. The dream was only the beginning. So I figured, the only way to avoid thinking about it was to remove myself from the situation, from all the triggers. From all the memories.

Eventually, we found ourselves gazing at a white medium-sized house with red window shutters, quite average, with "Windham" painted on to the freshly painted mailbox. Taking one last look at each other, what was left of our family, knowing that our lives would never be the same after this single irreversible move, we stepped up to the front door, and Mother, her hand shaking, knocked on it three times.

_Gregory Windham was seated at the table, reading the morning paper. His wife, Rebecca, was in the kitchen preparing breakfast for them, as well as for their two children, Francis and Harry, who were sitting across from their father, fighting over a toy. Gregory was about to turn the page, when he heard a knock at the door. Three, in fact. The first one was timid; he could just barely make it out. The second one was less quiet. The third knock was the most distinct, confident and loud. _

_Harry leaped from his seat, making his way to the door, eager. Francis, being the shadowing little brother that he was, followed him. They were a few feet from the door when Gregory ordered, "Stop!" They halted and turned around, clearly impatient with their father. Rebecca came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. _

"_Who could be coming here at breakfast time?" She wondered aloud, without trying to hide her annoyance. _

"_Somebody with something important to say, no doubt." Gregory walked over to the door and opened it. The boys peered curiously around his legs._

_There stood three people, a mother and her two children, it seemed. They were all holding suitcases, two for each person. The woman had reddish-brown hair. She was no more than, say, thirty-five or forty. The lines on her forehead, especially the ones between her forehead, and her demeanor, of someone who had been through much in their life, made her seem older. She also looked tired, very, very tired. The children, or rather, teenagers, a boy and a girl, were obviously twins. They shared almost all the same physical features: straight jet-black hair, angular noses, high-set eyebrows, almond-shaped eyes, and oval faces. The only physical difference between them, besides the obvious one, was their eye colors. The girl had hazel eyes flecked with green, and the boy's were bluish-green. The boy's eyes reminded Gregory of the sea. Both pairs twinkled like stars shining from unusual skies. Their facial expressions were also very different. The girl had a straight face; not a single emotion showed. If it were not for her lively eyes, she may as well been dead. The boy, however, was grinning at Francis and Harry, and his smile put them at ease. They began talking all at once._

"_Who are they, Daddy?"_

"_Where are they from?"_

"_Do they live in town? How did they get here?"_

"_Why are they holding suitcases?"_

"_Are we having a party, Daddy? Is it my birthday?"_

"_Enough," Gregory said to his sons. Then he looked up at the trio on his doorstep. "Can I help you?" he inquired politely._

_The woman spoke. "Actually, you can. How are you, ? I am Anne Masen, and these are my children, Sophia and Taylor." She gestured at each twin respectively. Taylor smiled good-naturedly at Gregory, and made playful faces at the boys when he wasn't looking, making them squeal in delight. Sophia merely nodded. Anne Masen continued, "We came here from Chicago." Then she paused, as if she was waiting for something._

_Masen…Chicago…Those words seemed somewhat familiar, although he could not remember where he had heard them before. Anne Masen, encouraged by the look of vague recognition on his face, eagerly said,_

"_We have never met before, Mr. Windham, but I am sure you are quite familiar with my husband and his brother, both deceased. They were once like brothers to you, too, as I have been told. Tell me, did you ever know anyone by the names of Robert and Edward John Masen?" _

_Gregory stared at her. These people, whom he had formerly suspected to be beggars, what with the suitcases they were carrying as if they were all they had to their names, were indeed, not beggars. They were not even strangers. This was old Bobby's family. This…was _his _family._

Mr. and Mrs. Windham welcomed us into their home as if they had known us all their lives. We told them about our situation, and they were sympathetic. They offered us their sincere condolences, and Mr. Windham wistfully related many adventures he had had with Father in their childhood. He also wondered aloud why Father had never come back to Mobile. This we could not answer. Father had always been a mystery. I laughed when I was supposed to, speculated when I was supposed to, and had done everything that was expected of me, in hopes that that would suffice for my mother. Of course, it didn't for Taylor, who, in between playing with the Windhams' little boys, had shot me looks of concern. I had just gritted my teeth, smiled at him, and continued listening to the talk about my father. Listening to it had been more painful than having my eyeballs gouged out with a needle. But I had persevered. Somehow.

The Windhams told us that they would be honored to have us live with them. Mrs. Windham had smiled at me and told me, "It would be good for Francis and Harry to have an older sister to care for them. Lord knows they need one, the little rascals." I hesitated before agreeing a second too late (with what I thought was a passable smile). The last thing I needed at that moment in my life was the burden of two young boys. Taylor seemed to be having fun with them, though.

Over time, that is to say, over the course of two years, I began to love those two boys as if they were indeed my brothers. I stopped seeing them as one person with a shadow, and but as two unique boys with individual personalities. Francis was the outgoing brother, the one who was not afraid to speak his mind and act the way he wanted to act. Harry was more gentleman-like, but somewhat withdrawn. I also grew to love Mrs. Windham, who had a way of being loving in a tough way, and Mr. Windham, who always had his nose buried in his newspaper or book. Even though these people became my family, they could not fill a certain emptiness inside me. I remember once calling Mr. Windham "Uncle John" by accident. When he looked at me questioningly, I realized what I had said, but I could not say anything. I just stared at him, speechless. Then I turned and ran to my room on the second floor. I stayed there and focused all my concentration on drawing things I could see from my window, in vivid detail. I did that for five hours. Before, my passion was writing, but I could not trust myself enough to write.

Francis and Harry were not Edward.

Mrs. Windham was not Aunt Elizabeth.

Mr. Windham was neither Uncle John nor Father.

I loved the Windhams very much. They were my family, but they were not _my family._

I now understood why Father had never come back.

**Review please!**

**The next chapter is an important one. And just in case I don't update before then, have a great Memorial Day! **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N This chapter is a real turning point in the story. I want to tell you so bad what happens, but I can't. It's killing me! Read on to find out, before I lose my mind, LOL..**

"The weather pleasant up there, Sophia?"

I grinned down at Taylor from my place in the oak tree in the Windhams' backyard. I had decided to take advantage of the rare sunny day, returning to my childhood passion of climbing trees. Mr. Windham had taken the boys out, and Mrs. Windham was on another cleaning-house rampage. Mother, after bearing no fruit in her attempt to convince Mrs. Windham that she should help her, gave up and retired to her room for a nap. _Good_, I thought. I could just imagine her face becoming indignant as she registered her only daughter, doing the least proper thing possible, _climbing a tree_. Oh, the shame.

I was feeling happier than usual. The weather had something to do with it, but there was more. I felt, after two years, that I could finally be at peace with myself. That I could think about my deceased family without feeling as if I had lost my entire life. Of course, I had, in a way. The life I knew was gone, replaced by something new, comparable to a phoenix being born from the ashes. I could never completely get over what I had lost, no one could. I still cried myself to sleep some days. But I was getting better. Everyone noticed. A few days ago, Mother had pointed out to me that my clothing choices were gradually getting more cheerful. I had looked down at my pink sundress in surprise, noticing for the first time that I had strayed from my usual dark-colored dress. Then, surprising Mother, I had laughed, a laugh that was full of relief and hope. I _was_ getting better, slowly but surely.

"It is better to remain silent and be thought of as a fool than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt," Abraham Lincoln had said, years before. I did the most foolish thing imaginable next by opening my mouth.

"Why don't you come up here and find out? The first one to the top wins. Or are you too scared of watching your _dear sister _beat you?" I teased my brother. His eyes sparkled with willingness at the challenge presented to him. He smirked and started climbing. I waited for him to get to where I was, and then the competition began.

I was ahead of him most of the way up. However, as we started getting closer to the top, I had to be more careful to not get my dress caught in a little branch. That caused Taylor to get in front of me. But I was more experienced in navigating through the thinner branches, stepping gracefully from one to another, making sure to only step on the part closest to the trunk. I soon gained back my lead, hearing a snap and a thud behind me as Taylor broke a branch and landed on his feet on the thicker one beneath. For good measure, I pulled a few leaves from the tree and threw them below me, into Taylor's face.

"Hey!" he yelled. I giggled, and then tried to remember when that sound had last come out of my mouth. This felt like old times.

Finally, I made it to the top first. I turned around, victorious.

"What did I say, Tay? I told you that I was goin—"

It happened so fast. First, I was standing on the topmost branch of the tree, that I could stand on, at least. Next, I heard a distinct _snap_. Then, I was falling. And then I found myself on the ground in utter pain.

Taylor scrambled down the tree and hovered over me. "Are you alright? Where are you hurt?" he asked anxiously, practically shouting his questions. "Can you get up?"

"No," I moaned. It was true. It felt as though at least one of my legs was broken, along with an arm or two. Those as well as my legs were scratched up through the torn dress from coming in contact with sharp branches on the way down, and it felt like I had blood on my face too. I touched it with one hand; that single movement made me wince in agony. I had a cut under my left eye and another one on my forehead; the one under the eye was deep. There was a pool of blood from my leg collecting near my foot.

"We have to get you to the doctor. We cannot wait for Mother or Mrs. Windham to get the carriage, so I will have to carry you to the hospital." With that he scooped me up in his arms and ran. It was unbearable, constantly being shaken, what with my possible broken limbs, but I didn't say anything. I just moaned. In about 10 minutes, we reached the hospital, only to be faced with a locked door and a sign on it that read, "_Doctor is on leave. If urgent, please go to his house." _Then it gave directions to the doctor's house, which was located somewhere in the forest. Taylor wasted no time. He spun around and ran past the crowd of staring passersby, for the forest. I could hear him breathing heavily. He was exhausted from the speed at which he was going and from carrying me, yet he spoke to me the entire way to the doctor's house, to distract me from the pain. He didn't speak about anything in particular. He told me a story about how he was in school and a boy accidentally wrote his name on Taylor's paper, and Taylor accidentally put his name on the boy's paper, earning them both grades opposite of what they would have gotten. Taylor received a 62%, while the other boy received a 98%. Then he described the Battle of Gettysburg to me. I listened, staring upward at the forest canopy that was moving at the same pace as Taylor, through which I could see bright sunlight peeking through small openings. _Just my luck to injure myself on the only day of the year when the sun is out,_ I thought bitterly. It took around twenty minutes, more or less, to get to the doctor's house. Taylor didn't even wait for a greeting; when the doctor opened the door, he went inside, laid me on the nearest couch, hastily told the doctor what happened, and excused himself to go inform Mother. The doctor, somehow unaffected by a teenage boy barging into his house with his wounded twin sister, told him that he would send someone to let them know when to come, sometime after a few days, when I was stable. Taylor agreed hesitantly, and with one last look at me, left.

The doctor turned around to face me, and I received my first good look at him. I gasped. He was exceedingly handsome, with perfect features, as if Michelangelo had carved him out of stone. No, as if _God _Himself carved him out of stone. He had golden blonde hair and eyes to match. His skin was very pale, as though he had no blood coursing through his veins at all. I stared at him in awe. Nobody could be that physically perfect. At least he was not proud. He had a very gentle face as he spoke to me.

"Fell out of a tree, indeed! You are fortunate. Your injuries could have been much worse." I focused not on his words, but his voice. It was so…melodic. Not as if he was singing, no. His voice itself was the song.

As he was examining my injuries, his hands colder and harder than ice, I stared at him some more. There was something about him that was familiar, something in his face…I felt as if I had seen him before, a long time ago. I tried very hard to remember, but all I could associate with him was the feeling of frustration…over what?

He looked up and saw me staring at him. I blushed. If he had recognized me as well, he didn't show it.

I diverted my attention to the house. It was lovely, not cluttered at all. In fact, there was barely anything inside the house besides essential furniture and a few paintings on the light blue wall. Everything that was inside the house was of high quality. For a second, I even suspected that the paintings may be real. He was a doctor, after all, and doctors were wealthy. This was such an enormous house, though. Something was missing…

"Don't you live with any family?" I mentally smacked myself, since I was unable to do it with either of my real hands. The Abraham Lincoln quote came to mind again.

The doctor didn't look bothered by my question. He smiled and replied, "My son is out of town for about a week, for business. Well, it seems to me that your left leg and arm are broken, and your right arm is merely sprained. I suppose 'merely' is a relatively acceptable way of describing it." He chuckled. Then he looked at me. "I have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Dr. Johnson. And you are…?"

"Sophia. Sophia Masen." I could have sworn that I saw something in his face change when I said my name, but then again, I had deliberately been looking for some sign of recognition. Anyway, I never met anyone with the last name of Johnson.

"Sophia. Well, then, Sophia, you lost quite a bit of blood, but not too much. We will have your wounds cleaned as soon as I can get the supplies from the hospital. It was foolish of me to not keep any here. Of all the days I choose to be sick." He coughed and then chuckled. He was sick. No wonder he was so pale. "I will transfer you to the hospital in the morning," he said, gazing through the window. "Other than that, you must try to move as little as possible, for the bones to mend. You may sleep here during the night. Then, I will be able to watch you for any signs of a head injury, or such. We have an extra bedroom—"He stopped abruptly, and then tensed.

Did I do anything wrong? No, he was looking out the window again. He turned back to me, his beautiful face grave as he contemplated for a moment. Then, he looked resigned. Sighing, he sat next to me and looked into my eyes seriously. I tried to sit up, but he shook his head. Finally, he started speaking. "We do not have much time. Disregard all your previous notions. Simply listen to me. I am a vampire. There is a vampire coming here because he has found your blood on the ground. He wants to kill you."My eyes were wide, but I continued listening. "This vampire is very strong. He is, or was, also my friend. For that reason, I do not want to kill him. I am not fond of killing… people." He smiled grimly. "That is why I only drink the blood of animals, not humans. Please listen to what I am saying, Sophia. There _is_ another way for vampires and humans to co-exist. Just consider it. _Please_." His eyes were begging. I didn't understand what he was saying. Why was he saying this to me? He saw the confusion in my face and continued, hurriedly, "Because I would be unable to fight this vampire off, the only way to save your life is to transform you into a vampire. I would be able to hold him off until the transformation is complete."

I could not say anything. This was all coming much too fast for me. Vampires…Why, I remembered having a book of _fairy tales_ with vampires in them. They had been nothing more than myth to me. And I was to become one? What about Taylor and Mother? And the Windhams? Could I even believe Dr. Johnson? At the same time, I had a strange feeling that I could trust this man—he struck me as the incarnation of innocence and concern. Wait—innocence and concern…I could not believe it.

"You were the doctor! You're—you—Edward—"

"Yes, I am, Sophia. I am sorry from hiding my identity from you. I had no choice." He raised his head attentively, as though he was listening to something. "He is almost here. I'm sorry, Sophia. I…I will not let someone die when I have the power to prevent that from happening. Even when death seems like a better option." He grimaced.

"I am truly sorry."

I had nothing to say to him. I braced myself for the worst. Scenes of my life flashed before my eyes. _Father telling Taylor and I stories. Me helping Aunt Elizabeth and Mother in the kitchen . Me crying at Father's funeral. Edward, stricken with the Influenza, looking into my eyes with his empty ones. My first night in my new house, screaming in my sleep. Me watching Taylor play with Francis and Harry. Me seeing golden eyes in the forest._

He leaned toward me, his eyes apologetic and determined at the same time.

And then he bit me.


	5. Chapter 5

**I haven't updated in a while, sorry! Anyway, in this chapter we get to see Sophia's story from someone else's eyes—Carlisle! Enjoy!**

_**Carlisle**_

I gasped. What had I just unleashed? Sophia was writhing before me, screaming in pain. Every piercing shriek, like the blade of a knife, made me wince. When she finally stopped, she would be the one to inflict pain on others. Memories of Edward's transformation flooded me. He had been so…_wild_. I had to take him away from all civilization for months. He was better than most at controlling himself, though. Even now, he still felt the familiar urge, and when he did, he would often go on "business trips" to a remote forest someplace to get a hold of himself. I stared at Sophia. Would this innocent girl, who fell from a _tree, _for Heaven's sake, would she be the same way? I shivered as I imagined her, beautiful yet cruel, with bright blood red eyes, draining the life from another innocent being. I had been so sure before, that I was doing the right thing. Now…_no._ I_ did_ do the right thing. I saved this girl's life. Not just any girl. Edward's _cousin_. He would rejoice at the chance to see her again, even if he disapproved of my spontaneous transforming of her. He would be…_happy._ Or at least, the happiest he would be since the Spanish Influenza struck his world. _We could be_, I reluctantly thought, _a family_. Yet, I knew that what I would give Sophia would never replace what she had before. However, I had other things to worry about. Such as, for instance, Wicanus.

We had met in the late 1700s, when I had been staying with the Volturi. Wicanus had been accused of forming a newborn army to overthrow the Volturi. He claimed that he was trying to create his own coven. The three brothers had been skeptical; eight newborn vampires in one month…for a coven? It was unheard of. I took pity on Wicanus and convinced Aro to not kill him. However, all the newborn vampires Wicanus created had been killed, and Wicanus had been forced to swear an oath of loyalty to the Volturi. They also decided to check up on him every couple of months. It had been very difficult, especially since Aro could see everything Wicanus had ever thought just by touching him, but I had succeeded. Once you won over Aro, it was almost impossible not to win over Marcus and Caius.

Wicanus had been very grateful to me, especially since he could not have used his power on Aro to make him forget what he saw in his mind. Nobody has ever manipulated the Volturi in such a manner. It was far too risky.

Now, as I heard Wicanus approaching, I prayed that he would remember the great favor I had done for him. I readied myself.

He came bursting through the door, tearing down the majority of the wall. Through the dust, his eyes were feverish, madly searching about the room until they focused on Sophia. Then he lunged at her.

I was in front of him in a matter of milliseconds. I pushed him back with more force than I had intended, and he went flying through the huge gap in the wall that he had made a few seconds before. He rose, unharmed, of course, obviously surprised seeing me there. We both settled into a crouched, guarded position.

"Carlisle. I didn't know you were in Mobile." His voice was strained, and he kept darting glances at Sophia.

"We came last year." My voice was cool, even. His eyebrows raised at the word "we," and I realized that he had not known about Edward. That moment was not a good time to explain, though.

He sniffed the air. "You bit her. You knew I was coming." He didn't even try to hide the accusing tone in his voice.

"I will not let you kill her, Wicanus. She does not deserve it."

"Oh, that's right." He sneered. "I forgot. You have a soft spot for humans. You view them as _equals_." He spat the word. "Instead of feeding on them, you sustain yourself on what _they_ eat. What is_ their_ food."

"That is correct, Wicanus. I am pleased that you have such an excellent memory." His eyes narrowed; he thought I was mocking him. In all truth, I half was, but I was secretly grateful that his mind was not clouded enough with Sophia's blood that he couldn't remember the last time he had met me.

"I want her. So…_sweet…_" His voice echoed the intense longing he felt for Sophia's blood. Then it became forceful. "Give her to me."

"No."

His eyes were now pleading. "Carlisle, we're friends, aren't we? Please, just this once? After, I may even try the animal blood lifestyle." I found myself falling for his proposition, and then caught myself. It was too good to be true. With Wicanus, what mattered most was power, and power came from strength. Human blood gave you more strength than that of an animal.

"No. You lie. You despise humans. You have no incentive, no reason to abstain from their blood. Even if I did let you have her, which would be over my dead body, you would return to your old ways without a second's hesitation." He roared in frustration, and then tried to throw himself at Sophia again. I was in front of him again, and I held him back with my hands. The force both of us were exerting was more than that of a locomotive. "Listen to me. I helped you in Volterra. I saved you. You are in_ debt_ to me. And if you let her live, your debt will be paid. You _owe_ me, Wicanus." I felt his shoulders stop resisting underneath my hands. Turning away, he sighed. He stared at Sophia, who was still unaware of the entire situation, occasionally screaming every few seconds, with such bloodlust in his eyes that I thought I might have to hold him back again. However, he turned to me, his countenance resigned and yet fierce at the same time.

"I will let her live. But on one condition." I waited, tense. "You give her to me."

I was taken aback. I had not expected this. I had been waiting for him to say, I don't know, that I find him another human who smelled like Sophia in exchange for her immortality. Or that I start drinking human blood. Not this.

"Why? What is she to you? What in the world could you possibly gain from h—" I stopped, mid-word. I had figured it out. I looked at Wicanus, at the malicious smile he had on his face. "You are doing it again." His smile broadened, but he didn't say anything. "You swore anoath. An _oath_, Wicanus. They will kill you if they find out. And this time, I will not be there to stop them."

"They will never find out. I am better prepared this time," he replied confidently.

"You should hope you are. If I find out, that after giving Sophia to you, to save her _life_, that she—" I gritted my teeth and pinched the bridge of my nose. I remained like that for a minute or two, and then finally, I slowly raised my head up to look at Wicanus, and then continued, in an unnaturally calm voice. "Take care of her, is all I am saying."

"So, you _do_ agree?"

"Yes. It is the only way. But to be safe, I only want you taking her when the transformation is almost complete. And—I want you to wipe my memory of this." He gaped at me. Now I had been the one to surprise _him._ "Make me forget her. Make me forget everything that happened today. It would be less painful on me…and others." I hesitated. "My…son, he can read minds. I do not want him to know what happened. It would also be beneficial for you if I ever met Aro again. And, also, this girl, her name is Sophia, she—she has a family. Follow her scent, go to her house, and make them forget, too. Make them forget her. It will be less difficult for them. _Please_."

He looked at me with an unreadable expression. It seemed as if he was searching my face for something. Finally, he nodded resolutely. "Alright. I will do it. But keep in mind that my power is not very strong." He grimaced. "Therefore, if you ever see this—_Sophia_—again, you will remember everything. The same goes for her family. Understand?" I nodded, and he paused for a couple of seconds. "And the girl's memory?" he inquired.

"No. Let her be." I wanted her to remember what I had said to her. There was a part of me that wished, that desperately _hoped_ that she would listen to me.

"Very well, then. So she shall be. And now—"he glanced at Sophia, and I could see the familiar feverishness return to his face for just a moment, and it seeped into his words—"we wait."

_**Sophia  
**_

I was dying.

No, I had already died. Now I was in hell, being tormented by the flames. _What did I ever do wrong, _I wanted to scream, at no one in particular. The pain was unbearable. I dimly remembered how I had thought falling from the tree was painful. I wanted to laugh at myself for being such a fool. The only problem was, I could not laugh, because I was screaming. _This is real pain,_ I thought. Pain was not even the word to describe it. Pain was just a silly human word. Pain was something that Mother would complain of, in her back. No one knew of _this._

Screaming was not enough. I wanted to scream until my soul came out with the screams, so that I would escape this insufferable torture. I wanted to scream until I could scream no more, and then I would die.

I wanted to die.

What was Dr. Cullen thinking? Couldn't he see that I would have rather died than endure this? Cruel, merciless man. I wanted to curse his existence over and over, but all I could do was scream.

It became worse. I could feel the fire in my veins, spreading throughout my body.

To my heart.

I screamed more.

It didn't stop.

It was relentless.

Time didn't exist anymore. Hours, seconds, days. None of them mattered.

Time was measured by the fire.

The time was the fire.

And then…ever so slightly…it slowed. It was stopping. I almost cheered. I was winning this war.

My fingers

My hands

My feet

My legs

One by one, they were all free. I was getting my territory back.

_Ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum _

_Ba-bum…ba-bum…ba-bum…ba-bum…_

_Ba-bum…ba-bum…_

_Ba…bum…_

_Ba…_

Silence.

I was free.

I opened my eyes.

**Reviews would be appreciated : ]**


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